


Honey

by aeroport_art



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, Incest, M/M, PWP, Sex Pollen, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-15
Updated: 2006-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 03:23:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeroport_art/pseuds/aeroport_art
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam harbors a secret desire for his older brother. When Dean is hit with demon-aphrodasiac, Sam has to decide whether or not he should take advantage of his big brother. UST galore!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first foray into the Supernatural fandom is a complete and total smutfest. Lol. A big side of angst snuck in there somehow but in my mind, there's a happy ending :)

It’d been a demon like any other; run-of-the-mill. Piece of cake, easy street, whatever you wanted to call it, it only took four hours and presto, humans lives saved at the hands of Sam and Dean Winchester. So they packed up, called it an early night and ordered take-in pizza at the motel.

Sam was scrubbing the filth off his arms in the bathroom sink when the sound of a chair being knocked over rattled through the flimsy struts of the room.

“Dean?” Sam whirled around past the doorway at the sound of the crash, eyebrows crinkled up in worry as the older brother crumpled to the ground. “Dean!!” Sam dashed forward and propped his hands against Dean’s shoulder, pushing erratically in hopes of getting the grimacing man’s attention.

Dean groaned. “Maybe… maybe that purple goo wasn’t as harmless as we’d—ungh—thought.” Dean hunched forward, clutching at his chest in attempt to stave off the burning sensation that traveled through his body like fire ants marching through his veins.

“Fuck—okay hold on. Hold on,” Sam blurted, eyes darting between his brother and the laptop, oscillating between propping the groaning man up and getting online to find pertinent information. “Dean, I’m just gonna go look—mmph—”

But Sam couldn’t begin researching, couldn’t even get up off the motel floor because his older brother had suddenly shoved him down to the threadbare carpet and shut him up with an insistent kiss that was more teeth and tongue than lips.

Sam’s back was slammed against the hard floor, the wind knocked out of him when Dean’s ravaging mouth sucked any remaining breath out of his lungs. The older brother threw his weight down and pinned Sam to the ground, crushing any possibility of escape. Not that Sam was trying to escape; more in a state of shock than anything, he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for this strange, strange vision to dissipate. Fourteen seconds and three blossoming hickeys later, Sam opened his eyes.

Nope, Dean was still there. Still nestled between Sam’s kicked-apart legs, latching his mouth onto any bit of tanned skin he could find and still groping his little brother in very unbrotherly ways. Still manhandling Sam like he was the last fuckable thing on Earth, and—

Wait, what the _fuck!?_ Feeling like he’d been bludgeoned over the head with something heavy, Sam finally began to struggle against the sinuous weight above him, scrabbling at the T-shirt clad chest and kicking his long legs in protest, but after Dean’s thoroughly wetted mouth had traveled back up from Sam’s neck he only succeeded in crossing his eyes at the too-close sight of Dean’s light freckles. Sam blinked one more time— there couldn’t be two Deans—and his eyes uncrossed. Dean licked at the open-mouthed lips below.

“Dean what the—stop, you’re not in your right mind, hey _stop it_ —“ Sam nearly yelped when an unabashed hand snuck its way down Sam’s jeans, massaging the flesh below cotton boxers until it began perking up in interest. The younger brother leapt up to his elbows and stared at the man between his legs.

“C’mon Sammy,” Dean breathed.

No freaky black pupils, no fangs or flickering lights, it was still ostensibly Dean but fuck if it was _his_ Dean, because the older brother Sam knew wouldn’t be holding his baby brother’s tightly bunched abs down with one splayed palm, other hand working the burgeoning cock into hardness.

Hell if this wasn’t some cruel-ass joke God, or Satan, (the Demon?) was playing on him because as much as Sam refused to acknowledge it, this was _brilliant_. Oh, he’d been good about hiding it… ignoring the clench in his chest when lipstick prints began appearing on Dean’s clothes, feigning indifference when Dean undressed in front of him, strangling any Dean-induced erections with a fanaticism that would rival any horny-toed pastor. Sam even went so far as wanking to photos or videos of women at convenient moments when he knew Dean might see, as if he didn’t have an imagination strong enough to censor the big tits and girlish moans. All it took was a little something and Sam had trained himself to see Dean in every brunette, every green-eyed gaze, every pouty mouth and leather jacket and _fuck_ , by the time Sam was eleven years old with Dean in his bed and jizz on his hand, he knew he had a Problem.

This had to be a joke of the lowest, meanest degree because as of this moment, Sam had everything he ever wanted in his arms (and pinning them down with heady domination), but it _wasn’t real_.

“Sammy, Sammy,” Dean moaned incoherently, shoving Sam’s wrists up over his head and clutching them with one grasp as the other hand flipped the button off of Sam’s jeans. “God, want you so bad—“

“Dean, snap out of it,” Sam pleaded, feeling tears in his eyes because this was wrong, wrong in so many ways (wrong like how fucking much he _wanted this_ ), and Dean’s hand had roughly jerked Sam’s zipper halfway down when he reached in, fishing for the younger man’s now-fully erect cock and jerking it out of the slit of his boxers and jeans.

“Shut up Sammy, just let me—“ Dean licked his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, just you wait.”

“Stop it Dean, please,” Sam bit out as his older brother clamped both hands on the jerking, jutting hips below him, ducked his head down, and wrapped his plump lips around the crown of Sam’s twitching dick. “ _Shit, Dean!_ ” Fist flying to his mouth, Sam bit down so hard that the pain almost drew attention away from the shocks of pleasure/relief that vibrated down his ecstatic penis. Almost, but not quite because Dean was fast sinking down, cheeks hollowed out in the sluttiest portrait Sam had ever seen of a man sucking his little brother off. And he’d seen several, if the history link in his browser was anything to go by.

After what seemed an eternity, Dean hit as far as he would go, swallowing just a little too deeply and gagging around the intruding flesh. Sam involuntarily bucked at the sensation of pulsing muscles around the tip of his dick and thrust up, further choking his brother. Dean pulled off and coughed wetly, saliva obscenely clinging from his mouth and trailing over Sam’s reddened dick.

“Dean…” Sam groaned, emotions battling against each other in a swirl of guilt, horror, desire, elation. Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed thickly, tasting precum in the back of his throat, and fuck, that little taste of Sam’s sperm drove him completely mad with lust, as if the induced lust that tore up and down his limbs wasn’t enough.

Sam looked up in fear as Dean sat back on his haunches, nursing his swollen lips with flashes of white teeth. _Oh god, he’s snapped out of it_ , he thought, watching his older brother’s eyes smolder with anger.

Only, it maybe it wasn’t anger because Dean had started to remove his jacket, shucking it off muscled arms and tossing it behind him, followed closely by his white T-shirt and leather belt. He got up onto his knees and edged forward and Sam tried not to hyperventilate at the sight of Dean’s lusciously contoured body, Dean’s dark, indigo denims slipping down narrow hips and revealing stark indents that disappeared into the waistband of Dean’s black boxer-briefs.

 _Fuck fuck fuck_ , Sam mentally swore. Fuck, because he was as hard as a pole, leaking like a cheap faucet, and with just one more erotic look from his brother or one more electrifying brush of skin, Sam was going to surrender. And if Dean came out of his lust-frenzy with his memory intact, Sam was _screwed_ , but not in the way he wanted (had always wanted) to be. Screwed to the ends of the Earth because Sam hadn’t struggled as hard as he could’ve, hadn’t protested as much as he should’ve.

“Dean, you don’t want this,” he weakly objected; once more, for appearances sake. One more shred of dignity he could cling to before he gave in to this demon-aphrodisiac, before he rolled over on all fours and begged to be fucked by his wet dream of an older brother.

“Like hell I don’t,” Dean growled, continuing to disrobe and deftly jerking his jeans down around his thighs. Sam had never heard sexier words spoken, had never seen anything hotter than his big brother kneading himself into a prominent, tented bulge. Christ, he could even see the head of Dean’s dick, neatly outlined through the thin fabric.

“Dean…” Sam bit his lip.

“Yeah Sammy, you want some of this?” Dean got up, sat on the edge of the nearest bed and languidly rubbed his lower belly with a sinuous hand before sliding down, down in slow motion until Sam blinked and suddenly, his older brother’s cock was out, slowly fisted into a straining, quivering rock that begged to be soothed with a curious tongue. “You want to suck this dick, Sammy? Wanna feel your big brother’s cock lodged in your throat?”

Sam’s ears burned at the words, thick and dirty words teased from a mouth made for sinful temptation.

“Strip for me, Sammy.”

 _Fuck it_. Might as well get laid before the shit hit the fan. Sam tentatively got up off the carpet and crawled forward until he was kneeling between Dean’s legs. Pulled his T-shirt off, steadfastly unbuckled his belt and kicked his trousers off. Face burning underneath the palpable gaze of his older brother, Sam undressed until all of his clothes were in a small pile beside to him. He obediently moved closer but he still couldn’t bring himself to look at his brother’s erection dead-on, despite it being a mere few inches from his tingling lips. The entire situation was wrong, and it was bad enough Sam had buckled in to his weakness; he didn’t need to lascivious about it. And so he looked down, studying the triangle of maroon bedcover visible between Dean’s spread thighs as he inhaled the heady musk of his brother’s sex. Parted his lips slowly and carefully, trying not to be too obvious about how disturbingly eager he was to (finally) taste, suck, swallow Dean’s cock.

The older man curled rough fingers into Sam’s longish, floppy hair and grasped tightly, yanking Sam’s head back until he had no choice but to meet Dean’s gaze.

“C’mon baby brother, I know the way you look at me. Don’t stop now,” he growled before shifting his grip and pointing the head of his dick at Sam’s grimacing mouth, prodding it against tightened lips. “Open that big mouth for me, show me how bad you want it.” Sam opened his mouth. Dean jerked his hips forward and stabbed his hard dick into the proffered cavity, then reached up to with both hands to force Sam’s head further into his lap. Ignoring the resistance from the younger man, Dean pushed him down until Sam’s nose was nestled in the slit of Dean’s boxers and buried in dark curls.

“Swallow, swallow,” Dean said, voice lilting in casual instruction like he was teaching a baby to drink. “That’s it Sammy—“ he ground his hips in slow circles, biting his lip at the feeling of his dick being caressed around his brother’s lashing tongue.

“Mmmph—“ Sam struggled, trying to let his euphoric brother know that he was running out of air. Unfortunately, the vibrations only purred through Dean’s sensitized dick and he groaned at the sensation.

“Yeah Sammy, just like that. Just hum a little tune for me, god damn,” Dean rambled, clenching fistfuls of soft hair and rocking into the wet cavern. Sam’s gag reflex started working as he fought for air, but the thick pole battered its way down his gullet and Sam could do naught but blink back tears. Finally he reached up and smacked Dean across the hip. 

“Fuck, what?” Dean pulled out of Sam’s mouth, a little torrent of saliva parting from his brother’s shining lips.

“I couldn’t—“ Sam coughed again, then swallowed the excess drool and precum. _Fuck_. He tasted Dean’s sperm on his palate and gods, it was such a fucking turn on. “Couldn’t breathe, asshole.”

“I’ll show you not breathing,” Dean countered, suddenly reaching for his own boxer-briefs and slipping them off his legs until he was completely, gloriously naked. Sam nearly moaned aloud at the sight of his brother’s freed erection, long and thick with a smooth crown and gods, he even had a little mole on the underside. Sam vaguely wondered if Dean knew about it but his train of thought was cut short when his older brother leaned down and shoved Sam to the ground.

“Hey—“ Sam protested as he landed on his back, affronted at the rude behavior.

“’Not breathing’ isn’t having a hard dick in your throat, baby brother. ‘Not breathing’ is when I’m riding you so hard, so deep that you’re choking on me all over again. We’ll see if you can breathe when I’m fucking you into the ground.” Dean strung a litany of filthy promises as he kneeled between Sam’s legs, grabbed his thighs and pushed them into Sam’s chest as he awkwardly settled the long calves on his shoulders. “—Gonna fuck you into next week and you’re going to _love it_.”

Sam looked up at his brother’s wild eyes, flashing green with huge, black pupils and he felt tears prick all over again at the knowledge that while this was singularly the hottest sex he’d ever had, it was thanks to the basic fact that his brother was strung out on demon-spawned chemicals. Knowing what a pathetic mess he was making of himself, Sam bit back a strangled cry and shoved his face to the side, unable to look at Dean’s drugged eyes when they fucked.

Unaware of his brother’s internal conflict, unheeding of Sam’s pooling tears, Dean hocked up spit from the back of his throat and parted the ass cheeks below him, easily exposing Sam’s dark, quivering pucker. He aimed and spit, watched the thick saliva dribble down Sam’s balls, over his perineum, and onto the target.

“Dean—“ Sam pleaded, aching voice breaking across the room, but to no response. For awhile the only audible noises were the muted, pained sounds Sam made as Dean roughly worked his brother’s asshole open with spit and probing fingers. By the time Dean had inserted a third, a fourth finger, Sam was openly weeping into the carpet, wet tracks spilling down one side of his temple as he obstinately refused to look up.

 _This could be so good_ , Sam listlessly thought. But maybe this was karma, retribution for years of being such a sick fuck. After all, he had been the owner to true perversions.

Sam helplessly thought back to when they were younger, still sharing a motel bed with Dad in the one over. He would complain about being chilly just to feel Dean’s strong arms around him regardless of whether he really was or not. One time when they were spooned on their sides, Sam had cautiously snuck a hand into his own briefs and touched himself, masturbating to the hot, moist breath at his neck and the feel of Dean’s hips snug against his ass. When Sam had imagined Dean’s soft dick, imagined the way it was pressed up against his own ass, he had come so hard that his ears rang. For weeks after, the guilt had clung to his chest like poisonous honey.

“Sammy, look at me,” Dean commanded, grabbing his little brother’s tear-tracked cheeks and turning his face up. “I’ll make you feel so good, just open up for me,” he whispered as he leaned down, brushing almost gentle lips against Sam’s. The irony twisted itself into Sam’s gut like a serrated blade.

Dean let of his face and returned his hands to Sam’s thighs, insistently pressing them forwards again until his younger brother’s ass was raised off the ground. Dean still pressed further until only Sam’s shoulder blades were digging into the carpet for balance. Using his weight to keep Sam’s legs in the air, Dean positioned himself at his little brother’s stretched, sloppy entrance and pushed in.

“Dean!!” Sam felt his mind drain of thoughts as the spongy head pressed against his opening. Suddenly, he didn’t care anymore, didn’t give a flying fuck that everything about this was _wrong_ because fuck, Dean’s dick was _pushing its way inside of him._

Bent nearly in half, Sam watched his older brother bear down and work his way into Sam’s virgin hole with short, rhythmic thrusts that charted new ground with each roll of the hips.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean winced. “So tight, god—gonna make me blow my load—“ In one grinding shove, Dean sheathed himself inside of his little brother. “ _Ffffuck_.”

Sam cried out when Dean’s hips skittered, pushing him down like a coiled bedspring. _Jesuschrist, Dean’s dick is **inside of me.** He’s—we’re_ … Sam shut his inane inner voice up and spread his legs a little wider, letting Dean slip closer.

Dean took the invitation and bruisingly grabbed Sam’s thighs for leverage as he pulled out, drunk on the feeling of his brother’s ass clinging to his dick. “God Sammy, you’re such a good boy, saving yourself for this.” He slammed back down, buried to the hilt.

“Nngh,” Sam grunted as Dean repeated the action. 

“How does it feel—“ _Up._ “—knowing I’m the only one who’s—“ _Down_. “—ever had my dick up your ass?” Dean hissed between clenched teeth as he picked up speed, pummeling his way into his little brother like a piston. 

“Oh god Dean—“ Sam yelled, ignoring the rug burn on his shoulder blades as the older man fucked him soundly. God it hurt; the huge girth of his brother fucking a space inside of him brought fresh tears to the corners of Sam’s eyes, but it was _so good_. Because with Dean shoving Sam’s knees over his shoulders and pounding into him so hard his spine nearly snapped in half, Sam could almost pretend that he was the one being taken advantage of. When Dean was hurting him like this, he could pretend that it wasn’t his fault that he’d given in to the aphrodisiac without batting an eyelash.

Dean eyed the long string of precum that dangled from the tip of his brother’s penis, watched the hard pink cock bounce against Sam’s belly from the shocks of rough thrusts. The older man spit in his palm, leaned down and swiped the leaking fluid for extra lube as he palmed Sam’s generous erection.

Sam wasn’t expecting it. He was too busy getting mindfucked by how delicious Dean’s meat felt inside of him to notice much of anything, but when that hot/tight/slick/ _perfect_ grip squeezed over his cock, Sam just about screamed.

“Sh, sh,” Dean hushed and Sam nearly came from the sight of his brother’s swollen, bitten lips forming a little ‘o’ shape in the flawless mimicry of a professional cocksucker.

“Dean!!” Sam squealed as the older man jacked him tightly, efficiently like he was cocking a gun.

“Yeah Sammy, such a slut for your big brother, aren’t you—“ Dean growled, kicking the pace up a notch as he worked Sam’s dick in luxurious pulls. Sam felt the violent thrusts rattle the teeth in his head and he could feel his asshole clenching in protest. Dean whined. “That’s it, milk it, god you’re so _fucking tight—_ “

Although his back threatened to snap, his shoulders burned to the bone and tears streaming freely down the sides of his head, Sam teetered on the brink of orgasm. _Dean, Dean, Dean_ , he chanted, whispery quiet against his lips, over and over again like his brother’s name was absolution. 

“Sammy,” Dean said, rough and commanding. “Sammy, open your mouth.”

Sam obeyed, so far beyond coherence that he would’ve complied with anything asked of him, so long as Dean didn’t. Stop. Fucking him. He stretched his mouth wide open.

“Come for me.” With one final shove, Dean nearly climbed his way into Sam’s ass, the tip of his cock rubbing against his little brother’s prostrate. Striking gold just as he twisted off Sam’s throbbing pole, jacking another stranglehold of a stroke to nudge Sam into orgasm.

“ _Dean!!_ ” The younger man gasped loudly as Dean kept pumping his fist, the come churning up out of Sam’s balls and erupting in lance after lance of thick white fluid that squirted over his own face. Almost there himself, Dean subconsciously aimed the jets into his brother’s still-open mouth and upon the sight of _Sammy coming in his own mouth_ , Dean fell over the edge.

Fell over, and over until he blacked out. 

It could have been seconds, minutes, or years, Dean didn’t know. He just knew that when he opened his eyes, he saw—

Sam naked beneath him, curled up on his side. Sam’s tear-streaked face. Thumb-shaped bruises on Sam’s jaw, come dripping down Sam’s face and hair.

He saw—thick, milky fluid oozing out between the cleft of Sam’s ass. Come. _His come in Sam’s ass._

Dean shakily stood up and blinked two, three times. Sam peered up at him from beneath a fringe of semen-mottled bangs. He felt something crash over him like a tidal wave of bleak, disbelieving horror, which was quickly replaced with rising panic.

 _Ohgod_ — Dean snatched up a pair of mesh shorts and a wrinkled T-shirt on the way out the room. Slammed the door behind him, turned to the bushes on the left of him, and emptied his stomach.

 _Sammy_ … Dean braced himself against a pole and let the second wave overtake him. Tried to orient himself long enough to think of something, _anything_ , but the only thing that came to mind was the image of his little brother, crying in a fetal position, face and hair splattered with God knows whose semen. He kneeled down and vomited again.

Inside the motel room, Sam had gotten up off the floor, painfully aware of the fire that shredded up and down his asshole. He felt something warm trickle down his thighs and touched at it, finding thick pink fluid over his index finger. Blood and come. How appropriate.

Sam hobbled into the bathroom, tried hard to ignore the despondency that threatened to overtake him in the realization that his brother had taken one look at Sam and _fled_.

He turned the hot water on, waited for it to warm up, and gingerly climbed in. Under the pounding spray he thought of all the things he would have to do to convince Dean that this was a fluke, that Sam wasn’t really head over heels in lust over his only family member. Thought of how he’d apologize for taking advantage of his Dean’s drugged state.

A good twenty or thirty minutes in, Sam heard the front door open and shut over the sound of the shower. Good, it was close to freezing in the winter night outside, and Dean hadn’t been wearing much of anything.

He closed his eyes and steeled himself. Turned the water off, stepped onto the bathmat, and dried himself off with a starchy white towel. Primly slung and tucked it around his waist, turned the knob of the bathroom, and stepped out.

Dean was underneath the sheets already, facing the opposite wall. Blankets rucked high up over his chin, curled into a tight ball as if he was trying to drown himself in the bedcovers and overstuffed pillows.

“Dean.”

Dean burrowed into himself. Sam pulled on some clothes and cautiously padded over to his older brother.

 _I’m sorry_ , he thought. _I fucked up._

Sam decided against touching Dean, as much as he wanted to. If his older brother’s trembling figure was anything to go by, this was probably not the best time to give in to his freakish impulses. So he turned around, pulled back the covers of the other bed and slipped in.

They fell asleep to remorse, thick and heavy on their minds. Neither one slept for hours.


	2. Chapter 2

A blur of lashes, the crinkling of sleep-studded eyes, a groggy swipe over his face and Sam was awake. He sat up in bed, feeling a bone-deep ache thrum through his body at the movement. He slowly recalled the night before; Dean killing the demon, the ensuing explosion that had coated the older Winchester from head to toe in seemingly harmless, purple sludge. Sam winced at how that substance had been anything but harmless. Memories flooded in, sensory memories of _hurt, deep, burn, good_ , Dean’s glazed eyes and the sheer horror in them when he came to. Sam put his head in his hands and his muscles groaned. 

_Dean_ , he thought with a start. Sam looked over at his brother’s bed.

Covers neatly made, pillows fluffed, comforter pulled back. It looked like it hadn’t even been slept in. Dean’s belongings were nowhere to be seen.

 _Fuck_. Sam threw his own sheets off and ignored the bite of cool air that stripped the warmth from his skin. A quick glance at the red-lit numbers on the nightstand told him it was half past noon. Dean could be _anywhere_ by now.

 _Fuck, Dean, don’t do this to me_. Sam bolted out of bed and dashed to his yawning duffel bag, ripped out the topmost pair of pants and a faded hoodie and shimmied into them as he tripped towards the front door.

He was desperately fiddling with the zipper of his jeans and swiping at the nightstand for keys when the green, peeling door casually swung open.

A cough. Sam looked up in panic.

“Going somewhere?” Dean’s voice sounded rough around the edges, like gravel under a tire. He cleared his throat.

“No, just,” Sam said and shoved his hands deep into his pockets. His fly was still undone. “Just about to go look for you.”

Dean scratched his head and studied the chair next to his little brother. “Well, I’m here.”

Sam took a deep breath. He hadn’t thought anything through yet, hadn’t formulated a decent apology yet, but he had to say _something_. “Dean—“

“I picked up a couple newspapers, haven’t had a chance to look at them yet though.” Dean tossed one over and Sam automatically caught it. Dean’s eyes roamed uncomfortably, settling on the carpet, clock, and nightstand; anywhere but on his younger brother.

Sam wanted to say something, anything. _So now you know_ , or _I’m sorry I loved it when you fucked me_ or _Pleasepleaseplease again_. Instead he felt his bladder swell in complaint and he suddenly really needed to pee. Sam turned around and strode towards the bathroom, determined to keep any discomfort, any hint that last night he’d been ridden to the moon twice over, out of his gait.

He felt Dean’s eyes on his back.

\-----

 

Dean couldn’t sleep. 2:00, 3:00, 4:00 flicked by emotionlessly and Dean wanted to bang his head against the wall. Wanted to do anything that could possibly budge the burning images from behind his eyes, anything that could keep him from seeing Sammy on the floor like that.

Seeing Sammy, freshly raped by his older brother. Tears and blood and come mingled with a palpable fear and Dean wanted to retch all over again. Instead he got out of bed and packed his duffel bag. Quietly and methodically, something structured and familiar that he could lean on while thinking about what the fuck he could conceivably do to make this better. When all his belongings were picked up, he stalled for time by straightening up the bed, tucking in sheets as his mind bounced between thoughts of feigning ignorance, groveling on his knees, or maybe just plain offing himself.

Dean looked back at the digital clock. 5:42 AM. His eyes leaned over and rested on Sam’s form, hidden beneath layers of blankets. Self-loathing shuddered through his body.

This was the plan. Dean would leave, he would leave Sam alone and hitch a ride somewhere, didn’t matter where, and he would hunt. He would hunt and maim and exorcise until he dreamed in Latin, and if he saved enough lives or smiled at enough grateful faces and families, then maybe he could atone. If he hurt enough, bled enough, maybe he could break even.

Dean left the room.

He found a ride easily enough and hour forty-two minutes out, he politely asked the truck driver to pull over and got out of the passenger seat.

Dean Winchester may have been a sick pervert and an unforgivable brother. He may have been a lot of terrible things, but he wasn’t and had never been a coward. He owed Sam that much at least.

Dean hoisted the strap of his duffel bag up on his shoulder and started walking back the way he came.

\-----

Sam wanted to scream. It’d been a week, then two weeks of pure, non-stop hunting and through it all Dean hadn’t touched him once, said a sentence to him that didn’t start or end in “demon” or “poltergeist”, hadn’t even _looked_ at him in the eyes in two. Full. Weeks.

Oh, Sam had tried. Tried to bring up That Night again, tried to apologize for taking advantage of Dean during his short-lived frenzy. Sam had cursed himself to hell and back, wondering _why_ he hadn’t just locked Dean in the bathroom and left him alone until the dementia had worn off. Wondered why he had to crumble so easily, had to give in to the sick pangs of want. Wondered why he had to go and fuck up the last good thing in his life.

Sam wanted scream. He could handle Dean hating him (maybe), could handle Dean disgusted at him (perhaps), but he couldn’t handle Dean pretending like everything was alright when it was so excruciatingly not.

It was just after a brawl with a nemean beast when Sam was cleaning the deep gashes on Dean’s back with antiseptic. He’d only been allowed to do so because Dean couldn’t sew up the wounds himself and Sam had insisted. When he’d placed a palm on Dean’s bare shoulder the older man shuddered, and Sam unthinkingly spoke aloud.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, wretchedly. “I’m sorry Dean, I’m so, so sorry.”

Dean stilled. Muttered back behind clenched teeth, “What the hell are you going on about?”

“I—“ Sam stuttered, taken aback that he was actually being given a chance to talk about the incident. He focused his thoughts. “I’m sorry I didn’t try and stop you. I just… I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a long time. Sam gave up on getting a response and dipped the cotton swab back in the hydrogen peroxide.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean said and Sam stopped what he was doing. “But I’m the one who…fuck, I’m the one who should be apologizing. What I did…”

Sam waited patiently. This happened so rarely, he didn’t want to miss a single word out of Dean’s mouth.

“I’m the one who… did that to you,” Dean bit out. “ _Fuck_. I don’t even know what to do anymore.”

 _Wait_. Sam struggled to make sense of Dean’s broken words. _He thinks he forced me_. One look at Dean’s white-knuckled grip on the bed sheets painted the rest of the story and suddenly, Sam felt like an ass for not noticing sooner. 

_It’s not me he’s mad at, it’s himself_. He wanted to laugh. All he needed to do was convince Dean that he was okay and this whole matter would be behind them. Nobody needed to find out that Sam... that he, well. Nobody needed to know.

“It wasn’t your fault, Dean,” Sam said, unable to hide the grin that suffused his face. “It’s okay, I swear.”

“ _It’s not okay_ ,” Dean growled and Sam’s smile evaporated. “Don’t say it wasn’t my fault, because _it was_.” Layers of grief colored Dean’s voice and Sam was startled from the intensity of it, trembled as Dean’s shoulders bunched up and split open one set of stitches.

“Stop it Dean, you’re hurting yourself.”

“I—I saw it all, I watched it all and couldn’t do a fucking thing,” Dean hunched over and scrubbed his face with his hands. A second fresh set of stitches ripped and began to bleed as Sam quickly grabbed a cloth and pressed it against Dean’s shaking back.

“C’mon, man, it wasn’t your fault. Stop ruining my handiwork,” Sam lightly joked as he anxiously staunched the blood.

“You don’t know, Sam,” Dean stated, distant and empty. Sam was tempted to protest but the defeat in Dean’s posture made him keep his mouth closed. “You don’t know what I did, Sam.”

“I was kind of there,” he replied. “I know it wasn’t your fault. It was that purple stuff.”

Dean didn’t move, only exhaled slowly and tightly.

“Dean,” Sam pleaded.

The older man eventually straightened up, put his hands back onto his knees. “What are you waiting for?”

Sam quickly peeled the stained washcloth back, placed it beside him and reached for a needle and thread.

\-----

The brothers spent the next week equally studious in their hunting, but the dynamics had changed. No longer was Sam wallowing in remorse; he was now a man with a mission and he passed the days trying to show Dean how okay he was through humor and jokes, or attempting to convince him that the incident was nobody’s fault.

But it wasn’t working. And as the days wore on and Dean’s mood worsened, Sam found himself nearly belligerent with worry—bitter retorts and angry pleas became his weapons of choice, as Dean continued to brave any psychological onslaught his little brother could dream up.

On a Thursday afternoon when Dean was out picking up pizza, Sam had his laptop open and was reading up on their latest case. When he took a break and checked his e-mail, he was pleasantly surprised to find a particular message in his inbox.

It was from Karen, a girl he knew from Stanford. A couple weeks ago Sam had been researching the demon aphrodisiac but he had found scant information on its kind; even less on the violet-colored entrails or its properties. However, he’d run across one site that seemed to be pretty good on information, the only drawback being that it was written entirely in Portuguese. So Sam had copied the link and e-mailed it to Karen, a friend of his who was conveniently part-Portuguese and fluent in her mother’s native tongue.

Her reply read:

_Sam—_

_Sorry it took so long for me to get back to you, I just got back from New York yesterday. Anyway I took a look at the site and translated it as best I could. It was kind of tough, had a whole bunch of words I didn’t recognize but you’ll just have to make do! Honestly, I don’t know why you read this stuff. Gives me the heebie jeebies._

_Karen_

_“The Mohrashty are drawn to death and spread it to feed corpses to their young. Blue-skinned or greyish in appearance, they instigate death by emitting a thick fluid from glands in their throat that causes human hormones to surge to extremely high levels. Upon contact with this viscous fluid, usually violet-colored along with their blood, it will cause a human to act upon any whim in a passionate, violent frenzy._

_It is commonly thought that the fluid is poisonous to humans; on the contrary, it simply takes whatever its victim desires and multiplies the feeling a thousandfold. This usually occurs in a violent reaction and is sufficient in creating enough feed for the Mohrashty young.”_

Sam read the translation. He stopped at the end, went back to the beginning and read it again. And again. But the words never changed.

_Whatever its victim desires._

Sam leaned back in his chair and drummed his fingers against the plywood tabletop. 

Well, damn.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had everything figured out in his head. This is what would happen: 

Sam would wake up the next morning and begin seducing his older brother. The morning would start with smoky gazes over black sludge coffee, continuing through the afternoon with not-so-subtle touches over newspapers and research. Early evening would see Sam’s admission of lifelong lust at which Dean could do naught but comply with, and the night would end with the hottest orgasm of Sam’s twenty-some years.

Sam had everything figured out in his head, but this is what really happened: 

Sam woke up the next morning and Dean was gone.

He rubbed his eyes and fumbled for the nightstand, where his cell phone lay blinking. 12:14 PM, what the fuck was it with Dean not waking him up anymore? He pressed the speed-dial.

“Dean, where the fuck are you?”

“Morning, sunshine. I’m about twenty miles out of Woodside, working, unlike some people.”

“Shut up, I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“That’s not what your snoring said.”

Sam was not awake enough for this… damn it. “So what am I supposed to do?”

“Get your ass over here, I’ll text you the address and fill you in when you’re here.”

“Wait—“

Silence. Sam groaned unhappily and tossed the phone back, missing the nightstand by a good six inches as the Blackberry bounced harmlessly onto the nubbled carpet.

He ended up walk-jogging the distance, seeing as how nobody was prone to picking up a six-foot tall man with a grimace on his face like he’d just as soon as murder you as say “thanks for the ride”. But it wasn’t so terrible; a bagel and coffee accompanied the journey and by the time Sam got to the address, he was fully awake and had smoothed the slight hiccup of a wasted morning out of his plan.

“Took you long enough,” Dean hissed as his younger brother approached. He turned back to the couple in front of him. “Mr. Grenn, Mrs. Grenn, this is my partner ah—“

“Brian Slade,” Sam cut in, holding up the appropriate card. “Excuse me, can I borrow my partner for a bit?” The old couple nodded agreeably and Sam leaned in to his brother’s side, touching his back to guide him away.

Dean froze like Sam had pressed the nozzle of a gun to his lower back. Sam sighed and pulled his hand back. _Right. Smoky eyes first, then the touching. I can do this._

Dean, as per your average Winchester, covered up his anxiety by acting like an asshole. “It’s fucking two o’ clock already, were you curling your hair or something?”

“I told you, I couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmares?”

“No.”

Dean stilled. “…Oh.”

Visibly uncomfortable now, the older brother shifted his weight and cast his eyes around, settling on the Grenns who gaily waved at him. This wasn’t helping Sam’s case, who was determinedly gazing at Dean’s face with as sultry an expression he could muster, but the idiot wasn’t even looking.

“Dean—“ he tried, but Dean only shoved his hands into his jacket and tromped back, posture tight and uneasy.

Great.

Sam hurried to follow his brother who was busy assuring the Grenns that their rodent problem would be taken care of by days’ end. 

Luckily, the job was as easy as predicted. The pagan god and his army of vermin were vanquished within hours and by sunset, the brothers were already on their way back to Woodside.

 _Finally_ , Sam thought. He’d had a hell of a time that day trying to make eyes at his older brother, who had spent the afternoon either completely avoiding his gaze or looking at Sam in abject horror. And the touching hadn’t progressed either; not unless you counted gripping a guy’s wrist to pull him out of a festering sewer as flirtation. 

Alright, so Sam’s plan wasn’t going as well as expected. But things were looking up. A job neatly wrapped up by dinnertime, and now a good thirty-minute car ride lay before him, plus the entirety of an evening was stretched out and primed for Sam to crack into later.

He licked his lips and turned away from the blurring landscape outside the window. _This is just like a case; hold your ground, show some evidence, throw a little guilt in and you’ve got yourself a winner._ “Dean—“

“What,” the older brother curtly said, anticipating Sam’s attempt at conversation.

“I know why you’re upset.” Dean’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“Do you.”

“About that night, when we… you know,” Sam stuttered as Dean’s eyes darkened.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam.”

“But you’re worked up over nothing, I swear!”

“Nothing? You call me…” Dean’s hand slipped and the car tilted out of its path, quickly dipping back in as he steadied his grip. “Don’t pretend like you’re fine, Sammy. There is no fucking way you could be fine after… that.”

“But Dean, I’m trying to explain here,” Sam maintained, disturbed at the familiar way that Dean’s jaw clenched. Flashes of their father sneaked up; stubborn as a mule, the two older Winchesters could be equally unyielding, equally frustrating. Sam’s arguments with John hadn’t died with the man— instead he found himself going through the motions with Dean. 

But as similar as the situations may have seemed, this was different. This wasn’t Sam wanting a normal life, this wasn’t Sam wanting more than the hunt. This was _Dean_ , and _Sam_ , and if they couldn’t piece together the scraps of what made the brothers whole, then everything else could go to shit. Sam _had_ to make Dean see.

“Dean, I want you,” Sam blurted. _Ohmotherfuck what did I just say?_

Dean’s hands clenched so tightly that points of pale white twinkled from his knuckles.

“You don’t know what you’re messing with, Sammy.”

“But Dean,” Sam whined. Hearing the desperate pitch in his own voice, he tried again. “Dean, I do know. I did a little research—” 

Dean snorted. Sam ignored it (very graciously, he thought) and continued, “I did some research on the Mohrashty. It turns out the purple stuff wasn’t poisonous, it actually works as a sort of hormone enhancer—Dean, are you even listening?”

“No,” Dean shot back. He turned to look at Sam, really look at him, and the fear in his wide eyes twisted in Sam’s chest. “Sam, I’m serious. _Back the fuck off_.”

The fear was so palpable that Sam could feel it shaking off the older brother’s body in waves of heat. Dean was hanging by a thread, only a thin façade of control to save face, but the clear sheen that glistened from his crystal-green eyes scared Sam to the bone.

“But Dean,” he said, the words barely hovering in front of his lips. “I want you too.” Sam lowered his eyes.

Dean suddenly wrenched the Impala into the concrete-cracked lot of the motel and slammed to a halt, the boys’ bodies jerking against their seatbelts. The ensuing silence was deafening. Sam swore he could hear the dust settle.

“Did you ever stop to think,” Dean unexpectedly said, voice wavering on every vowel. He cleared his throat. “Did you ever think that maybe you don’t really feel like that?”

Sam stopped rubbing his collarbone and turned to look at his brother.

“Venom is an anesthetic; you’re numb to the pain when you die. Same with mosquito saliva; you don’t feel them sucking your blood.” Dean’s fingers idly traced the bottom of the steering wheel. “It’s how it works, Sam. The victim is drugged, so that the aggressor can take what it wants. Did you ever stop to think?”

“But Dean. I’ve felt like this for years—”

“Have you?” Pools of liquid shyly grew in the shallow of Dean’s eyes and Sam’s throat caught. “Because if running off to Stanford, Jessica, if that’s your way of showing affection—“ he said unsteadily, sarcasm rolling off his tongue. “Don’t do this to me, Sammy. Just, don’t. Please.”

A beat passed before Dean angrily scrubbed a hand over his wet-tracked cheek and sniffed loudly, turning the engine off. He pulled the key out, kicked the car door open, and sauntered away towards downtown.

Sitting alone in the car, Sam thought, _That could have gone better_. He spotted a stray rat entrail on his pant cuff and frowned, shaking it off as he stepped out of the low seat.

\-----

Dean didn’t come back until late, very late. Sam had stayed up as long as he could but by the time the sky began to pale, he’d slipped out of the motel chair and onto the carpet, curled up into an unconscious, shivering ball.

It wasn’t the loud slamming of the door that woke Sam up. It wasn’t even the giggling or the sharp heel that tripped against his naked feet.

“Hey, wait,” Dean said in a loud whisper. He pulled his arm from around the girl’s waist and stepped over his little brother to the bed, struggling as he stripped the tucked-under blanket from under the mattress.

“Why is he on the floor?” she asked, chuckling at her own question. Dean ignored her, bent down and covered Sam up with the felt blanket.

It was the brush of Dean’s ice-cold fingers against his neck that woke Sam up. His eyes shot open and captured Dean’s, who looked guilty as a robber caught red-handed. A girl’s voice drunkenly trilled Dean’s name.

 _You should be_ , Sam thought angrily as Dean bit his lip. _You should be_.

But Dean only stood back up and stumbled over long legs before he cupped his cold hands against the ass of the girl he’d brought back. She squealed and slapped them away, oblivious to the psychic murder Sam was attempting from the ground.

This wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to endure the sounds of slick, drunken noises and ill-concealed giggles. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to bite his knuckles raw to stave of the arousal, had to keep his green-tinted distress from exploding because guys shouldn’t care this much that their older brothers were getting laid. Sam had been doing this for years, and he’d always been able to contain himself.

But at the sound of a heavy weight ( _two heavy weights_ , he corrected himself) hitting the mattress, Sam’s resolve wavered. The hum of zipper teeth pulling apart saw Sam clenching his fists so hard he’d torn holes into the flimsy blanket. A feminine moan echoed through the room and Sam nearly bit his tongue through but it took one word, a breathy _Yeah_ that rumbled from Dean’s lungs straight into Sam’s dick to snap his restraint into little twigs. Sam furiously got up, threw the blanket down and stalked over to the occupied bed.

The redheaded girl yelped as a shadow fell over them and pulled at the blanket, covering her nudity. Dean looked up, his expression a dark mix of haughtiness and remorse. Sam may have been tall normally, but in his fury he felt himself _tower_ over the two figures who were culpably entwined in blankets and pieces of clothing.

“Out, _now_ ,” he growled, his voice scratched thin from the cold and fitful sleep. The girl quickly recovered from her surprise and sat up, about to mouth a retort when Dean touched her naked back (at which Sam saw red), stopping her.

“Maybe you should go,” Dean said quietly. She threw a shocked look at Dean, waiting for the punch line until it was clear none was forthcoming. She muttered something along the lines of “—two of you are fucked up” but to his credit, Dean didn’t even flinch, instead worriedly watched for the fury to dissipate from Sam’s shaking posture.

Only when the girl had deftly dressed and staggered out of the room, whiskey clinging in her wake, did Sam let the anger ebb.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Sam said. Dean had the decency to look abashed as he reached above his pillow to grab his discarded T-shirt.

The tepid daylight peeking through the brocade curtains covered Dean in a swath of monochrome light, and Sam swallowed hard at the sight of hard-earned muscles and skin-tightened scars. Dean collected the shirt and brought his arms back down, opening the hem up to put over his head.

“No, don’t,” Sam breathed. Dean paused, cautiously meeting his brother’s indecipherable gaze. Sam moved forward.

He reached the bed and watched Dean fight through a leaden haze of liquor shots, his head dropping down before sluggishly tipping back up.

 _Don’t do this_ , Sam heard in his head, but he told it to fuck off.

“Get back under the covers, Dean,” Sam said, noting the goose bumps sprinkled over tanned skin and the way his brother’s dark nipples stood at attention from the brisk temperature. Dean gratefully obliged and burrowed underneath, then rolled over onto his side.

Sam pulled off his hooded sweatshirt. He undid the top six buttons of his collared shirt and yanked the rest over his head, shivering at the chill.

“Sammy?” Dean sleepily asked. “What are you doing?”

The telltale jangle of metal answered Dean’s question as Sam pulled his belt out of its clasp.

“Oh,” Dean breathed, face hot. When Sam had stepped out of his jeans, he pulled the cover back and slowly pressed his chest against Dean’s back, relief flooding his senses at the feeling of heated flesh against his own cool skin.

“Dean,” he said. “ _God_ , Dean.” Sam drew his legs up, pushing insistently against the backs of Dean’s knees until the two were cradled together, Sam smoothing his palm up Dean’s thigh, hipbone, waist, and resting at Dean’s heart-thudding chest.

“Sam,” the older brother said uncertainly, heavy lids falling shut.

“For how long, Dean?” Sam lightly traced the shell of Dean’s ear with unmoving lips. Dean made a tiny noise. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Don’t do this,” Dean said incoherently. “Don’t… do things you’ll take back, Sammy.“ Sam ducked down and nipped at Dean’s shoulder.

“I told you, Dean. It’s me talking, and I’m telling you,” he mouthed into Dean’s bicep. “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“I—” Dean faltered as Sam bit at strong muscle. “I don’t believe you. I would have noticed Sam.”

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Sam replied, frowning at how hard even an inebriated Dean resisted. “I made sure you didn’t find out.”

Dean snorted disbelievingly.

“Did you ever stay awake and listen to me touch myself, Dean?”

“Sam…”

“Didn’t you ever find it strange that I never actually looked at the magazines, or looked at the TV screen? They were just out there, waiting to be tripped over. I thought you were smarter than that, Dean. You should’ve known it was my front, Dean. It wasn’t the tits or the curves; _you_ were what I saw. You’re the one that brought me off, whether you knew it or not. Every time you’ve heard me come, I was thinking of your skin, your mouth, your hands.”

Dean whimpered.

“I swear, Dean. You remember that pretty blonde, your freshman year?” The older brother shook his head. “That’s when I knew for sure. I went to find you at the high school, and I found you. I found you at the back of the school, getting your dick sucked by a girl with long hair and highlights, and she wasn’t very good because you kept tensing when she used her teeth, but when you came and called out her name, I thought, _I could do it better_.” Sam tightened his arm around Dean’s pliant body. “That’s when I knew I loved you too much.”

“ _Sammy_.”

“Do you believe me yet, Dean?” Sam probed, huddling so close that he had almost enveloped the older brother completely. He rubbed his hard-on against the fabric of Dean’s boxer-briefs, tantalizing against the cleft of Dean’s ass.

Sam’s words had spun circles around Dean, and the older brother fought tenaciously to make sense of it all, though with difficulty as Sam’s hands and lips and— _god_ —dick pulsed around him, warm and tempting.

There was something wrong with this, Dean knew. He just couldn’t quite recall at the moment, since Sam had slipped a wet-hot tongue into his ear and jolted him rigid.

“That’s it Dean, just let go,” Sam purred, lapping behind Dean’s ear. “I know you’re tired, so just give in.”

And damn it, Dean _was_ tired. So fucking _tired_ , of having to be the big brother all the time, of having to shoulder the responsibility of being a little too fucked up, even for a hunter. He was tired of emotions, the guilty yearning. And now Sammy was behind him, writhing like a doped up whore and whispering perfect promises of silky depths and come.

So, Dean made a decision. It may not have been the most prudent one, given his drunken state, but he was beyond giving a fuck. 

He pushed at Sam’s vine-like limbs until the taller man relented and rolled off. Dean turned around to face him, whose face was bleak and hurt from the dismissal.

“Tell me, Sam.”

“What?”

Dean inched forward and placed a steady hand on Sam’s lower back, teasing the elastic band with his pinky.

“Tell me you want this.”

“Ohgod Dean,” the younger man choked. “I want it, I want it so bad—“

Dean pulled at his brother’s hips and pushed their tented erections together. Sam strangled a cry but was silenced by the sudden proximity of Dean’s plump lips to his own.

“Good,” Dean exhaled, hot breath blooming over Sam’s skin, before he nudged their lips together in a firm, but chaste kiss.

The scent and taste of alcohol flooded Sam’s senses before being nudged aside by the scrape of Dean’s stubble, the feel of Dean’s soft lips, Dean’s nose bumping his own. Sam must not have been breathing because when they finally pulled apart, he felt vertigo swing through his head. Dean’s face swam before him and all he knew was that he wanted _more_ so he launched himself forward and shoved Dean into the mattress, dropping feathery kisses and little licks onto the bleary man as he clumsily climbed on.

“God Sammy,” Dean gasped. “So fucking—so fucking heavy—“

Sam snorted mid-suck and quickly wiped the saliva off of Dean’s neck. “Fine then, where do you want me?”

Dean’s eyes widened at the possibilities, before quickly shuttering up. “I—I don’t know,” he said, turning his face to the side.

“C’mon Dean, where do you want me?” Sam smiled impishly and leaned down to hotly whisper, “…or… _how_ do you want me?”

“ _God_ , who taught you to talk like that?” Dean groaned as Sam chuckled in reply.

“Just tell me, Dean…,” Sam teased, scooting back until he was firmly seated on top of his brother’s erection, which peeked out from underneath the elastic of his black underpants. Sam licked his lips as he looked down, spying the tip prettily weeping a puddle onto Dean’s abdomen. “Tell me or I won’t touch you.”

“Stingy bitch.”

“Oh, not so much—“ Sam pressed the pad of his thumb against Dean’s slit, who jerked like he’d been shocked. “I just want to hear your mouth, Dean. I know how it can sound… wanna hear it again…”

Dean blushed a furious red as he recalled the multitude of things his drugged mouth had conjured during their previous… engagement.

“That didn’t count,” Dean protested. “I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Uh huh,” Sam humored him. “If you don’t tell me what you want already, I’m gonna go and get myself off in the other bed.”

Dean froze. “Okay, okay, fine. Jeez. Just… uh. Um.”

“Yes?”

“On top. You, I mean. Fuck,” he slurred before starting over. “Sammy, I want you on top.”

“Already there, big brother.” Sam wiggled in place, eliciting another euphoric arch from the man beneath him. “What should I do while I’m up here?”

“I want you to… uhm,” Dean wavered, wondering to himself if this was all some alcohol-induced hallucination. He prayed to God he wasn’t superimposing Sammy on some random guy. “I want you to sit on my cock.”

“Oh yeah?”

Dean blushed and looked to the side. “You asked.”

Sam wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or to decline an invitation to ride his brother’s cock, for that matter. He sat on his haunches, pushed the last bit of clothing off his body and reached in to the opening of Dean’s underpants. He maneuvered the fabric around until Dean’s erection was sticking straight up from the slit, pubic hairs softly nested against the base but mostly hidden by black material.

God damn if Dean’s dick wasn’t the most beautiful thing Sam had ever seen. Not so long as Sam’s own but thicker and wider, as if made for rough, no holds barred romps. Sam swallowed thickly.

It wasn’t like he’d never seen Dean’s dick before. But this was the first time Sam had seen it head-on, and so close, so aroused he could see and smell Dean beading at the tip. The mole he’d sighted before seemed that much cuter now, a dark spot gently beating against satin-soft flesh.

“Sammy?,” Dean asked nervously. He reached down and tried to cover himself but Sam easily caught his wrists.

“God, Dean, do you know how fucking gorgeous you are?”

“Shu-th’fuck up,” he replied embarrassedly, trying to shake off the firm grip but Sam only dug his fingers in harder. He leaned forward and pinned Dean’s wrists into the comforter.

“You remember this, Dean?” Sam said, voice jagged. “Remember when you held me down?”

A flash of guilt darted across Dean’s face but Sam cut it short with a fierce suck to the side of his brother’s neck. He smiled when the skin turned pink, then blotchy with broken blood vessels.

“I loved it, Dean,” Sam quietly whispered. He tightened his hold, gradually pressed all of his weight onto Dean’s stretched torso, and sharply bit Dean’s ear.

Dean’s erection jerked against his inner thigh. Sam’s grin widened.

“Looks like I’m not the only one.”

“Shu—” Dean objected but Sam caught the half-formed words with a harsh, open-mouthed kiss. He kneaded Dean’s mouth with his own, forcing a tongue in and tried to lick the back of Dean’s throat. The older brother involuntarily curved up, seeking more skin, more heat, more _Sam_.

“Is this what you wanted, Dean?” Sam gleefully growled as he twisted his grip, Dean crying out at the Indian burn. “You wanted me on top so I could force you, didn’t you? Force you to—mmm… do all the dirty things you’ve always wanted, but were—ah— too scared to ask.”

“ _God, Sammy_ ,” Dean wetly gasped. Adequately satisfied, Sam stopped teasing and started concentrating on the squirming body beneath him.

He began by scaling Dean’s chiseled chest, then turning around until he could sit on Dean’s face and comfortably taste his brother’s dick at the same time.

“You want to fuck me, you better get me ready,” he said, before reaching back and spreading his own cheeks. 

At the sight of his younger brother’s puckered entrance, Dean’s cock twitched excitedly, slapping against Sam’s face and leaving a little splatter of clear fluid.

“Make me loose, Dean,” Sam ordered, hot breaths puffing against the shaft in front of him. “I don’t care how. Just get me ready for this big cock of yours.” He moved forward and suckled the weeping crown, swirling the slippery precum over the head of Dean’s dick.

Dean cursed loudly and was momentarily paralyzed at the sensation of Sam’s mouth, which crept down until the younger brother’s upper lip kissed the top of Dean’s balls. But when Sam reached back up and spread Dean’s thighs, massaging the muscle with large, capable hands, the older brother suddenly remembered his task. 

Sam’s asshole. Get it loose. Right.

Dean cautiously parted the globes of Sam’s pale ass and licked a slow, unsteady stripe from his younger brother’s heavy-hanging balls, over his perineum and flicking into the dip of Sam’s hole.

Sam keened with a mouthful of cock and embedded his fingernails into Dean’s thighs so hard that for a split second, Dean thought against doing that again.

But then he looked up and there was Sammy’s hole again, wet and shiny and in need of some preparation. And who was Dean if not Sam’s ever-helpful older sibling? He pulled Sam’s cheeks apart and dove his tongue in, deep as it would go, wiggling and twisting to gain that all-important extra millimeter.

Sam went wild at the other end, drooling and sucking and swallowing like he’d win points for sheer noise. Dean thanked God for the potent alcohol in his system; had he been sober, Dean probably would’ve shot his load at just the sound of Sam’s slurping. As it was, he felt his engulfed dick flex in what was surely a couple squirts of precum, and then went back to eating out Sam’s ass.

After a few minutes of licking and stretching, Dean shoved his tongue between three deeply sunken fingers and the lip of Sam’s asshole. Sam let Dean’s right testicle drop from his mouth and cried out in ecstasy.

“Oh fuck Dean— _Dean!!_ ” Face still buried against his brother’s squirming ass, Dean hummed a salutation at his name and Sam felt the tremor echo throughout his body in waves of _ohfuckme_.

So Sam propped himself up with both hands, roughly wrestled Dean’s boxer-briefs off of his thighs and calves, then lifted his ass up off of Dean’s face. Kicking off the underpants, the older brother whined in complaint and tried to keep his fingers in, even attempted to work his pinky into Sam’s dripping crevice but the younger brother resolutely removed the digits with a firm hand.

“Want you in me—“ Sam groaned as he turned around to face his brother again. He ducked down and wildly bit at Dean’s throat while gripping his brother’s hard on with a grip so tight that Dean’s dick was prevented from premature ejaculation. Which was just as well because if Sam hadn’t done so, the older brother would have been coming in copious, general spurts…on the _outside_ of Sam’s asshole. And neither Winchester wanted that.

“God Sammy please—stop _teasing me_ you _ah_ —little bitch!!”

“M’not teasing you,” Sam said wickedly, moving his pelvis in little circles so that Dean’s penis shallowly rubbed at Sam’s sloppy, loosened entrance. The younger brother lowered himself down and inch or so, then rose back up with a twist of the hips.

“ _Fuck, Sammy, just fucking sit on my cock alrea_ —“ Dean nearly screamed, when Sam took pity, let the tension out of his legs, and sank down. With his brother buried inside of him. 

Dean screamed.

Sam sighed blissfully, taking a moment to relish the sense of fullness before experimentally rocking forward. Pleasantly met with Dean’s drunken, babbled encouragement, Sam repeated the motion. Then did it again. And again, and again until he was well and truly riding Dean’s dick like a champion cowboy.

“Ah _god, Sam!!_!” Dean’s face scrunched up and Sam felt exactly how hard, how completely stiff his older brother had gone inside of him, and realized with awe _Dean was about to come_.

“Wait Dean—“ Sam cried, stilling himself half-impaled and reaching back to harshly squeeze Dean’s balls, but it was too late. He felt his brother buck beneath him, felt how tight Dean’s sac felt in his hand. Sinking back down in capitulation, Sam clenched his hole and rocked into Dean’s orgasm, prolonging the ride.

After nearly an eternity of shaking muscles and breathy nonsense, Sam slumped down, holding Dean’s trembling biceps down and mewling against his older brother’s damp neck.

“Ah, fuck,” Dean blearily swore. “M’sorry Sammy— so fucking tight…” 

Sam smiled against his brother’s bobbing Adam’s apple. He felt the dick inside his ass relax, though still hard with blood. Viscous warmth languidly slid out from their joined bodies and Sam involuntarily clenched his ass again, trying to keep the semen in while Dean jumped from the over-sensation. 

God, Sam wanted to be full of Dean, Dean’s sleepily softening dick, Dean’s freshly-made come, for-fucking-ever. He smoothed his palms up and down his brother’s calming arms.

“Wh-‘bout you?” Dean interjected Sam’s mushy thoughts. He skated an unsteady hand down Sam’s flank and slipped between their sweat-cooled bodies. Sam groaned as strong fingers encircled his still-hard flesh.

“C’mon Sammy, wanna get you off,” Dean said as he pushed at Sam’s shoulders, urging the younger man to sit up again. Dean’s penis slipped out from Sam’s hole and with it, a gush of body-heated come. Sam scooted up so that the torrent spread out over Dean’s lower belly instead of the motel bedcovers.

“Hey, that’s gross,” Dean griped as the thick fluid dribbled into his navel and down the sides of his hips.

“Stop whining,” Sam laughed as he wrapped his own hand around Dean’s unmoving one and forced a slow, steady pull of his dick.

“Oh yeah,” Dean breathed. He pumped his fist again in tandem with Sam’s, and the two of them jacked Sam’s cock in quick jerks that gradually picked up speed.

“I’m close Dean—“ Sam moaned, letting the heady aroma of Dean’s sex fill his nostrils like an aphrodisiac. He squeezed his fist harder around his brother’s as Dean took a little initiative and started twisting his wrist, making hot-slick-friction that burned a path through Sam’s body, clenching a grip around his chest and pulling the ache down to his groin.

At the sound of Dean’s whimper, Sam opened eyes he hadn’t realized were closed. He looked down and saw Dean biting his lip so hard, the worried flesh around his teeth were white with pressure. His brother’s dilated eyes were fixated on their joined hands, pumping a blue streak up and down Sam’s engorged flesh.

“ _Fuck, Sammy_ ,” Dean whispered, and at the small sound of his brother’s voice over slapping flesh, Sam crossed the brink.

Years of listening to Dean talk, swear, flirt, he’d spent years around his big brother’s familiar voice but Sam had never heard him quite like this. Had never heard the want ripped from Dean’s throat, had never heard him so uncontrollably quiet, like he would break in half from the intensity of it all. Sam heard Dean’s awe beat through his eardrums and fuck, he had never felt so wanted, so _needed_ before.

“ _Dean_ ,” he sobbed, and came.

Dean let go of his lower lip and dropped his head back against the mattress, arching into the shower of warm liquid that splattered over his torso, neck, face. He felt his body let go, like a second orgasm that exploded in his chest rather than groin. He felt Sam’s semen on his face and it felt like being blessed.

When Dean’s hand loosened over Sam’s twitching dick, Sam opened his eyes. His brother was fast asleep.

He wordlessly slipped off and clumsily padded to the bathroom to wet a hand towel. Walked back to the bed and looked at Dean, passed out and covered in two loads of come. Sam felt his throat close.

He gingerly wiped the sticky, cooled mess from Dean’s face and body and the older man groaned, rolling over onto his side before Sam could finish digging the towel into Dean’s belly button.

Sam tossed the laden towel onto the night stand and slid into bed behind Dean, wrapping his arms and legs around him to ensure that the older man couldn’t leave in the morning without his noticing. He inhaled _Dean_ from the back of his brother’s neck, sighed contentedly, and fell asleep.

\-----

 

Dean woke up. Groggily noted that there were arms and legs encasing him but that wouldn’t be a first, so he fought them loose and turned around to find out what face he’d see.

Sammy, hair in his face and lightly drooling. Wait, what?

“Oh, fuck no,” he whispered to himself. Tried to sneakily peel his younger brother’s limbs off but god damn it, Sam was firmly secured and really fucking _heavy_.

Sleepy, feline eyes blinked open. Dean stared back in panic.

“No,” Sam said, the word barely recognizable through hours of heavy slumber, and he pulled Dean forward into a morning kiss that was moist and unfocused.

Dean struggled at first, cursing himself for the weak son of a bitch he’d been last night, but then Sam crawled on top of him and pinned him down with a slow, demanding tongue.

“ _No_ ,” Sam repeated.

Dean blinked at his younger brother’s face, so close and possessive with a hint of fear lingering behind the wrinkle of his forehead, and Dean decided that he could deal with the logistics later. Right now he had to smooth the unhappiness from his Sammy’s face.

He craned his neck up to brush his lips across Sam’s tightened ones, and nursed, gently, until the mouth on his relaxed. They slowly, leisurely, woke each other up with lingering kisses until Dean’s neck ached and he fell back against the pillow.

“You smell like day-old alcohol,” Sam said with a smile.

“Ah, fuck you,” Dean replied as Sam ducked down and nipped at the stubble on his brother’s chin.

Dean could deal with the logistics later. Much, much later because Sammy was kissing down Dean’s face, down his neck, and Dean sure as hell wasn’t about to miss out on where this was headed.

He curled a hand in little brother’s mussed up hair and felt Sam smile against his skin.

 

_End._


End file.
